


Monsters in Beds

by thesunisloud



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Horror, Legends, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunisloud/pseuds/thesunisloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about abuse and monsters, told through our favorite Night Vale hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liver & Onions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to tell a story like this, but had trouble fitting it to the canon characters. As I developed it, it changed and became the story of what happened to Cecil and Earl, long before Carlos came to town.

“There is a ghost story,” Cecil said quietly as Earl slammed the cupboard and shot him a glare.

“A woman cooks liver and onions every night for her husband. He is a wife-beater, and she is very afraid of him. One night, she singes her finger on the liver in the pan. When she sucks on it, it's so delicious, she tries a nibble of the liver. And that nibble is so delicious, she tries another, and another, until she discovers she has eaten it all up.”

“Stupid bitch,” Earl said.

“She realizes what she has done and is terrified. Her husband will beat her when he gets home and finds she's eaten his dinner. The butcher is closed. But just at the corner is a church, and an old woman's corpse is set out for viewing.”

“Are you still talking?” Earl asked, shaking the liver pieces in flour with more agitation than necessary.

“So she walks to the church with her kitchen knife, and removes the old woman's liver. She fries it up just in time to serve it when her husband comes home. He eats it up, and tells her it's the best liver he's ever had.”

“Yeah, well, this liver is on its expiration date. Check next time. Think you can handle that? Maybe you can try to handle that.”

“They go to sleep that night, but at midnight they're woken by a voice: 'Wherrrre is my livvverrrr? Whooo has my livvverrrr?' It gets closer and closer. First it's down the street: 'Wherrrre is my livvverrrr? Whooo has my livvverrrr?' Then outside the house: 'Wherrrre is my livvverrrr? Whooo has my livvverrrr?' Then the old woman is standing in the bedroom door: 'Wherrrre is my livvverrrr? Whooo has my livvverrrr?'”

“I told you I am TIRED of hearing your voice!”

“And the wife sits straight up in bed, points at her husband, and shouts, 'HE HAS IT!'”

Earl let out an exasperated sigh and put the liver and onions in the pan, slamming it down with a loud crash as if to drown him out.

“And the old woman reaches down the husband's throat, and pulls him inside-out!”

“What is the FUCKING point of that.”

“Just something I was reminded of while I watched you make dinner.”


	2. Good Housewives

“They say selkies make good housewives,” Cecil said.

Earl did not acknowledge him. Outside, the bursting runes of the festival lit the sky. Earl did not want to go out. He did not like Cecil to go anywhere except the radio station without him.

“To catch one, you must go to where the seals lay in the sun. Wait until one sheds its skin so it can walk about on human legs-- this is a selkie. When she wanders away from her skin, steal it, and hide it from her.”

Earl grunted and swigged his beer.

“She will come to you looking for it, and then, you can take her as your wife. She will bear your children and clean your home and be as passive a homemaker as you can desire, as long as you keep her skin so she cannot dream of the sea,” he said, resting his head against the window glass as he gazed at the distant festivities.

“But if she should find her skin, she will kill you and any children you had together, and return to the sea.”

“Be QUIET,” Earl shouted, and threw the empty bottle hard against Cecil's head.


	3. The Lantern

“There was a husband and wife who lived all alone out in the wild jungle,” Cecil said. 

Earl shoved him as he walked across the room.

“Every night, a pack of hyenas came, and tried to get into the hut. So the husband sent her out each dusk to light a lantern to keep the hyenas away.”

“Where the FUCK is my tape?”

“One evening, they had an argument. The husband became so enraged, he beat his wife unconscious, even as she cried his name, begging him to stop. He dragged her deep into the jungle. He left her out there to be eaten by wild animals as night fell.”

“I am so FUCKING tired of your goddamned FUCKING voice!” Earl shouted, hurling a book at him.

“But he forgot to light the lantern. It was something the wife had always done. And when it got dark, the hyenas came.”

Earl swore at him and taped gauze over his knuckles.

“But the hyenas did not laugh like normal. Instead, they called his name. And when he finally stepped out with a stick to beat them off, he froze in horror. One of the hyenas was the size of a human and had red glowing eyes. When it said his name, it sounded like his wife.”

Cecil gingerly touched the bruise over his eye.

“And as he stood transfixed, the pack devoured him.”


	4. Violence

“The Native Americans tell of a monster called the Wendigo.”

Cecil stood with his back to the tent, hand clenched tightly around his bruised arm, breathing shallowly and gasping frequently because of his fractured rib.

“It was once a man who tainted his soul by a violent act-- in most cases, by killing and cannibalizing his family during a winter famine. Or he may have been exposed to a Wendigo once himself.”

Cecil shifted back and forth on his feet, testing his contused hip and injured knee.

“He haunts the woods. He can never eat his fill. With each person he murders and eats, he grows larger, hungrier, and more grotesque.”

Cecil licked his bleeding lip.

“Go out into the woods, and he will attack you and eat you.”

The light from the dying fire flickered over Cecil's broken wrist.

“But the scary part is, the Wendigos are not fairy tales. They are real.”

Cecil turned to regard Earl. He was bound and grunting desperately around his gag.

“Wendigo syndrome,” Cecil said, wincing as he moved to circle Earl's bound form, “Is a culturally based psychological disorder. The person becomes agitated, often due to stress like famine or the cold. Or he may have been exposed to a Wendigo once himself.”

Earl struggled, but could not budge. The fire shrank and the darkness crowded closer around them.

“He begins to get angry with his family and community. Violent outbursts appear. He beats his wife and his children and ultimately, he commits murder.”

He let out a strained groan as he moved his broken body to kneel before Earl.

“Monsters are real, Earl,” Cecil whispered, voice low but still carrying all his sonorous tones. “You have taught me that. Every single one of my stories has been about you.”

He stood with a small cry, and paced around the edge of the firelight, shouting into the darkness. “Which one will come for you tonight? The old woman, seeking her liver? The selkie, reunited with her skin? The hyena, hungry for revenge? The ironic thing is, none of these characters were the monsters in their tales. Not the _real_ monsters.”

Cecil cried out again, as he bent to pick up a blade. Blood dripped from his face.

" _Real_ monsters make you fear for your life.  _Real_  monsters make you jump and scream.  _Real_ monsters make you afraid in your own home."

Earl thrashed in the dirt, eyes wide, howling into his gag.

“The _real_ monsters were the wife-beater. The abductor. The murderer. And all of them fell victim--” Cecil straightened and his eyes and blade flashed in the moonlight. “-- To me.”

He pulled Earl's head back and pressed the knife under his chin. “I am the fairy tale monster that makes the _real_ monster pay. I am the old woman, the selkie, the hyena. But I am scarier than that. I am The Voice of Night Vale. And I am the one people will mistake for the monster when they tell the story of what happened tonight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff hanger for the weekend! :) Come back next Friday for the conclusion.


	5. Epilogue

 

 

There is a ghost story.

The Voice of Night Vale is a spirit which will stalk you and kill you if you are bad. Violate the laws of the Town Council, and it will take control of you, bring down the dark planet lit by no sun, and narrate you to your death.

The Voice of Night Vale was not always a mere voice on the airwaves. It was once a man. And, the legend goes, this man had a husband.

That husband was violent. His outbursts contained only words at first-- snide remarks, subtle insults, insinuations his lover was not bright. Then the words became loud. He would yell. He would swear. As the man provoked him more and more, he was driven to hit. To kick. To break bones.

One day, the husband took the man out camping in the sand wastes. There the man angered his husband more than ever before, and his husband beat him more than ever before. The man turned on the husband who had once promised to love him, and tore him apart.

The man then wandered in a daze, having committed the ultimate act of murder. He did not realize his husband still clung to life. The husband attacked him, and as he was killed, the man screamed so loudly that even after his body died, his voice persisted. And this is the Voice you hear on the radio waves today.

So be careful, children. Best behave and watch your backs. Or else, the monster will come. The Voice of Night Vale will get you.


End file.
